Space Sickness
by shadowmaat
Summary: Pre-coring fic where Kevin (Space Core) is out sick and Craig goes to check on him. Another in the Geekenders 'verse.


Kevin was usually the healthiest of the three of them, so when Craig answered the phone to hear hoarse croaking about space, he knew something was wrong.

"Good," Rick said when he mentioned it. "Maybe we can get some peace and quiet around here for a change."

"He sounds sick. I'm going to check on him."

"Your funeral." Rick turned up the radio. Something with a lot of dun-dun da DUN DUN in it.

Ignoring him, Craig grabbed a box of Sudafed from his desk from the last time he'd been sick and left. A quick stop at the vending machine for a couple bottles of apple juice and then he was on his way. He'd been to Kevin's room often enough for Movie Night and had no trouble finding his way, but when he knocked there was no answer.

"Kevin?" He tried again. "Are you awake? I brought juice."

There was a thump and a scuffle and the door opened to reveal a fuzzy blue blanket covered with yellow stars. Kevin peered out from his makeshift cloak, a tissue crumpled in one hand.

"S'bace." He sniffed, wiping his nose with the tissue.

"You look terrible, Kev." He pushed his way into the room. The star lamp was the only illumination, casting constellations against the wall and ceiling. He flicked on the overhead light to reveal a debris field of Kleenex and Milky Way wrappers around the bed against the wall.

"S'bace sig." Kevin huddled behind him, squinting against the sudden brightness.

"Maybe if you ate healthier you wouldn't get sick." Craig handed him one of the juices And checked his pocket for the Sudafed.

Kevin pressed the bottle to his cheek, closing his eyes with a little sigh before fumbling to get the cap off. "Ice creeb, doo," he said. "Galagzies. Id's gold id s'bays."

"Take these." Craig handed him the box. "You probably need antibiotics, too, but I know how you feel about doctors."

Shuddering, Kevin swallowed the pills and gulped his juice. "No dogtors." He sneezed into his arm and wiped his nose again. "No more cuddig and pokig. Godda be healthy for s'bays."

"You have to eat right, too." Craig checked the refrigerator. Half a bottle of water, three cans of Pibb, and a container of takeout starting to grow fur. The freezer did indeed contain a half-eaten pint of chocolate-marshmallow "galaxies" ice cream. A markered message on the lid said "Thanks for the lesson, Space Boy" and was signed with a star with a heart around it. He shook his head. Kevin was oddly popular with women; another point of contention he had with Rick.

"Don't you have any real food?" He put the other juice in the fridge and tossed the takeout, wiping his hands on his lab coat.

The reply was an unintelligible mumble as Kevin shed his blanket, revealing Star Wars pajama bottoms and a NASA shirt before crawling back into his bed.

"That's what I figured." Craig sighed. "You get some sleep. I'm coming back with… soup, or something. Vitamins."

Another mutter ended in a cough. Switching the light off as he went, Craig headed down the hall towards the cafeteria, lost in thought. It seemed like all of them were coming down with colds and maladies more easily than they used to. He kept getting random fevers that left him alternating between sweats and chills and he knew Rick was suffering from headaches that left him more short-tempered than usual.

Part of the problem was that it wasn't safe to talk to the medical staff about it. They kept track of everything and reported it all back to Mr. Johnson. There had also been a section in their contracts relating to "prolonged illnesses or unexplained medical conditions", but he didn't have a week to read through it and find out what the specifics were. Self-medicate and hope for the best; that's all they could do.

When he entered the cafeteria he recognized the lady behind the counter. Or more specifically, he recognized her as one of the ones who seemed to like Kevin. When it was his turn he decided to try asking for help.

"It's… Irene, right?" He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping he was right. His attention to things outside of the lab- and away from Wheatley- could be sporadic.

Irene raised her eyebrows. "Can I get you something, Dr. Nolan?"

She knew who he was. That was… interesting. "Uh… Y-yes, actually. It's a well-known fact that food service workers are the best… um. Your knowledge of food and nutritional data far exceeds that of anyone else in the facility…"

The flat look he was getting from her wasn't encouraging. He decided to cut the preamble.

"Kevin is sick. I was hoping you could suggest something to help."

Irene blinked, her expression softening. "My little space cadet? Poor thing." She surveyed the offerings before her and started putting together a plate.

"That stuff about chicken soup curing all ills is a load of bunk, but the vitamins and nutrients do help. Wait right here." She shoved a plate and a bowl of soup at him and disappeared into the back. The others waiting in line glared at him for the interruption. He scuffed his feet and stared at what Irene had given him. Some kind of creamy, orange-ish soup filled the bowl. The plate was piled with salad greens, pasta, and chicken fingers. There was also a banana and at least a dozen 2-packs of crackers.

"Here you go." Irene was back. She handed over a container filled with more soup, a box of mint tea, and several packets of oatmeal. "Make sure he eats it," she warned. "I know how he can be. And if you need any more, I've passed the word along, so the staff will help. Even Luke, if he knows what's good for him." She smiled.

"I- uh, thanks." Craig stared at the overloaded tray. This had worked far better than he imagined it would. Asking for help had been the right call after all.

"You're a good friend, Dr. Nolan. Kevin is lucky to have you. Here." Irene handed over four large cookies. "For both of you. After he has a healthy lunch."

"Thank you." Craig had never been found worthy of the cookies before, just the usual Aperture Health Biscuits. "That's very generous-"

"Now, move along and stop holding up the line." She made shooing motions at him.

Carrying the tray, and feeling a bit rebellious for removing it from the cafeteria, he left, heading through the branching corridors back to Kevin's room.

"Kevin?" He opened the door into total darkness; not even the star lamp was on this time. Silence was punctuated by a wheezy snuffle. He flicked the wall switch and Kevin curled under the blankets again with a hiss.

"I brought you some lunch." He cleared some space off the coffee table by the couch and put the tray down. "Irene was worried when she heard you weren't feeling well."

One eye peered out. "Coogies?"

"No cookies," he said, quickly stuffing them in a pocket. "Soup and salad and stuff you'll need to get better."

"Mmph." The eye disappeared.

"Kevin." Craig filled a mug with water and stuck it in the microwave for the tea. "You have to eat."

"You ead."

"I know you're not 12, so stop acting like it." He put a tea bag in the mug and placed it on the table beside the tray. "Irene put this together especially for you. You wouldn't want to disappoint her, would you?"

It worked. He'd known it would. Heaving a sigh, Kevin shoved the blankets off, took his thumb out of his mouth, and sat up. His hair stuck out every which way and he peered blearily across the room. His nose was red, his eyes were red, and he was looking pastier than usual. He wrapped one blanket around himself and shuffled over, flopping onto the couch beside Craig.

"Godda keeb S'bace Mom habby." He picked up the bowl of soup and tried to sniff it. "Nod chigen wid stars?" He sighed, grabbing a spoon.

Once he was sure Kevin was actually going to eat, Craig got up and started to tidy the mess. He found a bag and started scooping the tissues and wrappers into it, wishing fervently that he'd brought gloves. He also made the bed and put the dirty dishes in the sink before washing his hands. At least it made the room a little better, although there were still clothes strewn here and there, including a lacy bra that was either evidence of company or an unexpected lifestyle choice. He absolutely did not want to know the answer.

Kevin had finished the soup and chicken fingers and at least part of the salad. He leaned back on the couch, sipping the tea with a wrinkled nose. "I hade mindt. S'b- space tea is bedder. Or space coffee."

"Coffee dehydrates you," Craig said. "And the caffeine can have a bad effect on your immune system, which is clearly already compromised."

Rolling his eyes, Kevin blew his nose. "I lige s'bace fagdts bedder."

"How are you feeling now? Did the food help?" He put the leftovers in the fridge and the dishes in the sink.

"…Maybe." He pulled the blanket over his head again and slouched.

Craig handed him a cookie from his pocket. "Good."

"Hey, you said no spa- no coogies."

The fingers touching his to take the treat felt hot. "Irene said you had to eat first. I was just following orders."

"Ha." Kevin started to say something else, coughed, and then started nibbling the cookie.

Craig sat on the couch, deciding to try one of them himself. White chocolate and macadamia. It practically melted in his mouth. "These aren't from the Aperture kitchens, are they?"

The blanket shook. "Space Mom's dodder has a bagery. Liddle space bagery in town."

"Huh. I guess I need to get out more." He paused. "Do you think you'll be OK or do you want me to stick around for a bit?"

There was a long silence from the blanket, punctuated by a cough. "I need sleep, bud maybe you could come bag later?"

"You got it." He reached out to pat his shoulder. "You want me to bring anything when I come back?"

Kevin looked at him, eyes wide and watery. "More space coogkies?"

He pulled out the other two cookies and placed them on the coffee table. Kevin slumped against him.

"Space bless you, space buddy."

"You get some sleep and start feeling better and we'll call it even." He propped his friend more or less upright again and headed out, leaving the room in darkness. Just like space.


End file.
